Out of Character
by RochelleRene
Summary: I never thought I'd write this scenario. Never. But, you know - last season, stages of grief, etc... Hope you like it.


It was the first day back at work after their vacation and Cuddy was swimming in catch-up tasks. House strode into her office like his limp was gone. Well, not really, but he had a purposeful step to his walk that gave her pause as she looked up from her paperwork, pen still poised. He turned, shut the doors and turned the lock.

_Oh boy,_ she thought. Not the whole sex-on-her-desk thing again. They'd been over this and over this. It seemed since begging and bargaining hadn't work, acting like Mr. Tough Guy was his next tactic.

"What do you want, House?" she said in her best no-nonsense tone, returning to the document at hand. House stood across the desk, tossed his cane to the side, and put two palms down on the lacquered surface, bending over her. She looked up at him with her eyes, refusing to raise her actual head.

Suddenly House laid one arm just shy of her computer and began sweeping the contents of her desk off the side. Cuddy pushed back in her chair, shocked. House paused. "May I?" he asked, and then continued so that the rest of the files, pens, Post-its and paperclips slid to the ground with a tinkling whoosh.

Cuddy stared at him. She was annoyed because he sure as hell wasn't going to clean this up, and because they'd covered this inane fantasy of his and she was tired of the conversation. She was game for almost anything he ever wanted – as their vacation had proven -but sex on her desk at work was a no-no.

He limped over to her side and bent to kiss her aggressively. He began lifting her out of her chair. "House," Cuddy protested against his lips, "We talked about this - "

"We never talked about this," he said into her neck. He pushed her against the desk, then lifted her butt onto the top with jerk.

"How can you say that?" she asked, incredulous, her head tilted back in reflexive response to a man who knew her body well. Suddenly the warmth of his mouth was gone. He held one hand and she straightened and refocused.

House sat in her desk chair, pulled up to her knees, and tentatively held an open velvet box.

They had _never_ talked about this.

"So, you can continue to repair as much damage as possible," he began in a serious tone, "But three things are off limits. Wilson – we work. Monster trucks – forever. Rachel - we've got it covered."

Cuddy sat agog, but recovering. "Gosh, Gregory," she fake-gushed, "Don't make me swoon."

House grinned, sighed, then pressed his face against her knees. "I live in a dark place, Cuddy. I've lived there so long, it's home." He looked up at her. His eyes were so round, blue, earnest . "But somehow you get me out of there. And I can't do that myself." House took a breath. "So I want to know if you will do that every day until I'm dead."

Even his romance is morbid. Cuddy swallowed hard. This felt like a game-changer, and yet it wasn't somehow. She told herself she should think about this as she broke his gaze and picked a hangnail on her thumb. The nausea in House's gut rivaled Vicodin withdrawal. He really hadn't known how exactly this would proceed, but it's where he'd felt compelled to go, hell or high water.

She met his eyes again. Did he spy a tear somewhere in there? Was that good or bad? "I really never thought you'd do this in a million years," she confessed.

"Good," he replied. "You don't have an over-analyzed answer prepared."

She saw his hand slowly lowering the ring box.

"Yes," burst out suddenly and she pinched her lips shut in surprise. They stared, both fighting back smiles. "I'll save you from yourself, House," She proclaimed. "I should have a doctorate in it by now."

He smiled freely now, then tsked. "This has been the MCAT, lady. _Hmmm, maybe I'll give this whole medicine thing some consideration_… Then you get in somewhere and decide to tell your family and friends you're going to be doctor. You're committed. Marrying me…" he shook his head. "This is gonna put the horror of med school to shame," he forewarned, slipping the ring on her finger.

"Can we put that on the invitations?"

"We don't need invitations. Conveniently, the hookers and Elvis impersonators are already there."

"We're not eloping to Vegas," Cuddy warned, unflustered.

"We're not making a big deal out of this," House warned, unflustered.

Cuddy tilted her head to the side. "Aw, our first fight as an engaged couple!" she said in mock celebration.

"Feels different, eh?" he asked. "More grating and suffocating."

"You were always grating and suffocating."

"Always been the marrying type."

House stood up and she hooked her legs behind his, leaning into him a little. He held her face and kissed her. _Holy shit he was gonna fucking marry her_. He had to get the hell outta there for a minute. Find Wilson. He broke the kiss, ran a thumb along her cheek.

"Door's already locked," she reminded him.

House snorted. "So all this time, a big-ass rock is all it took." Cuddy laughed, held her arm out to admire her ring, then slid her hands under his shirt. House held them, the fabric of his tee between their skin. "It's okay. Another time." Cuddy looked baffled. He shrugged. "I got a whole other scenario in my head about that and warm fuzzy feelings are not involved, you naughty, naughty boss." He squeezed her hands and limped to his cane. "My wife's _such_ a slob," he muttered, stepping across a field of office supply debris.

"Wait, wait, wait. You've offered clinic hours, public serenades, and Wilson's head on a platter… I'm saying let's do it and you're turning me down? After proposing? I don't know if I should be insulted or flattered right now." Cuddy stared at his back as he reached the door.

"Save it," he told her, turning the knob. He looked over his shoulder at her. "Then one day you can do what I never thought _you'd_ do in a million years." He smirked.

"What makes you so sure this chance will come again, House?" she teased.

He paused to think her question over. He reclosed the door and leaned against it before answering.

"You'll think about it, in passing - all the while vowing never to do it, telling yourself it's not for you. Then you'll consider it, in a hypothetical way – how good it could be, with this particular person." Cuddy's heart and core were warming simultaneously. "Then it will start distracting you. You'll think about it when you know shouldn't. One day, before you know it, you'll know you want it more than you've ever wanted anything – that it makes perfect sense. And when that day comes, you'll know you're gonna do it."

"Sound like it might take a while. Like 20 years or so." Cuddy winked. "Hope you'll still want to…"

"Cuddy," he said shaking his head in disbelief. He turned and opened the door again, calling from the doorway in a louder-than-necessary voice, "I've already got the handcuffs hidden in your desk."


End file.
